


Only Us

by CupcakeOfAwesomeness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blushing, Canonical Character Death, Caretaking, Coping, Depression, Developing Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Five Stages of Grief, Fred Weasley Dies, Grief/Mourning, Grounding, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Pining, References to Depression, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Secret Crush, Slow-ish Burn but also not really lol, So much blushing, Unrequited Crush, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, not actually unrequited crush, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeOfAwesomeness/pseuds/CupcakeOfAwesomeness
Summary: George Weasley feels empty. Hermione Granger fills his emptiness. Hermione feels tired. George brings her joy. This is the story of how they don't complete each other, but rather help to mend their brokenness together.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 73





	1. Depression

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! This will start out sad, but get happy later!!
> 
> I've never personally dealt with a grief like this, so this is all based on my own research and interpretation. Hopefully you like it :)

George felt empty. As if he weren't really alive. Just an empty shell of what _used_ to be George Fabian Weasley. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know how long he had been there. He didn't care. He had heard that it wasn't healthy to base your entire existence around one person. People were unpredictable. _Temporary_. You're supposed to live for yourself. That way you're not hanging onto someone who could leave at any time—who could _die_ at any time... But when you have an identical twin you don't really ever contemplate the idea of them leaving, do you? His whole life had been pinned to Fred—his identical twin brother, his partner in crime, his _best friend_ —and he hadn't even realized until Fred was _gone_ and it resulted in him not being able to bring himself to function. 

He forced himself to sit up. Their flat—no, it was just _his_ flat now, wasn't it?—was dark, despite the rays of sunlight threatening to penetrate the curtained windows. He slept in Fred's old room. It didn't make him feel better, exactly. It just helped him when he woke up due to nightmares—meaning every night. George used to only wear his boxers to bed, but now he wore one of Fred's old jumpers too. It helped him cry less at night. Or maybe it did the opposite. He didn't know anymore.

“George?”

George strained to put a name to the voice. He thought he knew—but no, it _couldn't_ be her. This voice was so nervous and meek, not commanding and confident like the Hermione he knew. 

“George, if you're here, say something, please!”

George's bloodshot eyes widened. That was _definitely_ Hermione Granger. 

“Herm—” His voice has been so unused that he could barely speak above a whisper. He tried again. “Hermione? Why do you sound so...”

“Scared?” Hermione supplied, as she opened the door hesitantly. Looking around the room, her expression showed clear disgust. “George, this room is absolutely filthy! Did you even bother—?! Never mind.”

Hermione waved her wand. The layers of dust disappeared and the curtains opened. George shielded his eyes from the sudden light. 

“As for being scared,” Hermione continued, “it's normal these days, isn't it?” George gave a blank expression, causing Hermione to let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, George, didn't you bother opening your eyes long enough to read the Daily Prophet? Death Eater attacks are becoming a far-too-frequent occurrence!”

George blinked. Hermione plowed on, “In fact, I think I recognised a Death Eater just outside the shop. Do you understand why I'm here now, George? You haven't been in contact with _anyone_ for _months_! Your mum sent me to make sure you weren't _dead_! She said she wouldn't be able to live with herself if two of her sons died!”

George said nothing. But he did bury his face in Fred's jumper. Hermione thought she could hear a muffled sob. Hesitantly, Hermione sat next to George on the bed, the mattress squeaking a bit under the added weight. 

“Oh, George,” she whispered, putting her arms around his shaking body, “I am _so_ sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up, that was so terrible of me. I'm sorry. I—I miss him too...” A stray tear slipped down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. "I am _so_ sorry."

After George had finished crying, there was a few moments of silence, before Hermione broke it. “George, do you feel up to coming to the Burrow? Your family misses you terribly...”

George let out a quiet sigh. “They don't understand how I feel,” he said, in hardly more than a whisper, his voice cracking slightly. 

“But you can't honestly expect them to either, can you?” Hermione asked. George gave her a strange look and she continued, “While it's true Fred was their son and brother, they didn't have the same relationship with him that you had. He was your twin. You hadn't left his side since birth. It's natural that you had a different relationship with him. In fact, if they did know how you felt, _then_ I would be confused.

“Now,” Hermione went on, “you can't blame them for not understanding, but they loved Fred too. Maybe not as much as you, but they do. Did you know that Percy blamed himself for the longest time?”

George hadn't known that. He bit his lip and said, “Hermione—”

But Hermione continued, obviously trying her hardest to convince him to go to the Burrow and see his family. “They don't just miss Fred though, they miss _you_ , George. You've been holed up in here for months—have you even gone outside _once_?”

“Hermione—”

“I hope you haven't been hurting yourself! That includes starvation, drunkenness, cutting—”

“ _Hermione_!”

“What?” Hermione finally stopped her spiel and looked over at George. The redhead was smiling, a very good sign—albeit a very small smile, but smiling all the same. 

“I'll go to the Burrow.”

“You—you will?” Hermione obviously hadn't expected to win this easily.

“Yes, I will. But I probably need a shower,” George muttered, scrunching his nose up in disgust. He hadn't freshened up for a long time; he didn't remember exactly when the last time he even stepped foot in another room. 

“Oh! Right. Of course. I'll just go back to the Burrow then,” Hermione said, standing up quickly, but George grabbed her hand. 

“Please...” George hesitated, a blush rising in his cheeks, but he quickly went on, not giving himself room for embarrassment. “Will you wait for me?”

Hermione was surprised at his request, but said, “Oh! Yes, of course, George. I'll just go wait in the living room, then.”

George nodded, watching the bushy haired girl's retreating figure. He sighed as she closed the door with a soft click. What was wrong with him? Was he honestly going to face his family after months of absolutely zero contact? George tilted his head towards the ceiling, closing his eyes and allowing a few stray tears to escape.

“Oh Fred... What should I do?” he asked quietly with a sigh. 

After a few moments, George resigned to the decision of first showering and then assessing how he felt. He opened the door, walking the short distance to the bathroom without checking to see if Hermione was still in the flat. He trusted that she would wait. 

George tried not to look in the mirror as he stripped off his clothes. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was Fred. Not himself. Just Fred. Who even _was_ George Weasley without Fred? It had always been _Fred and George_. Never _George and Fred_ , or _just George_ , or _just Fred_. He was... incomplete. 

He let out a sigh and stepped under the flow of warm water. 

* * *

Hermione paced around the living room of George’s flat. She didn’t like being here—the entire apartment felt lifeless and reminded her too much of the one Weasley no longer present. She had never been particularly close to either of the twins, but her closeness to the family as a whole gave her a similar sense of loss. As she tried to keep herself positive, she noticed a picture frame laying underneath the coffee table. Assuming that it had fallen over by mistaken, she gingerly picked it up. 

“Oh,” she murmured, covering her mouth sorrowfully. 

The glass was shattered and the frame was broken; through the cracks, she could see that it was a photograph of the twins, arms looped around each other’s shoulders, laughing without a care in the world. They were younger here, maybe ten or eleven, with no idea what would come only a few years later. That thought alone brought tears to her eyes again. 

“Oh. So you found that, huh?” 

George was behind her, drying his hair haphazardly. He tossed the towel aside and crouched next to her, sighing dejectedly. His proximity made her cheeks heat up—she chose to ignore it. He ran his hand over the glass, wistful.

“I threw this across the room after he—” George swallowed, unable to finish his thought. “After the battle,” he supplied instead. “I regret that a bit now. I just—I was so fucking _angry_.” His hands pushed roughly at his face. “I don’t even know _why_. It was all just... _so much_.” 

“That’s natural,” Hermione said quietly, still looking at the photograph. “It’s one of the five stages of grief.” When he looked over at her in confusion, she elucidated, “I suppose it was discovered by Muggles. When anyone goes through a substantial loss, they experience five different stages through their grief. It starts with denial and—” She thought back to when they first found out about Fred’s fate; her heart broke again just remembering how George was trying to convince himself it was all a prank. “I think we all experienced that.”

George nodded, harshly wiping his eyes as he shared the same memory. He hadn’t been able to accept that his brother was gone—it had to be some sick joke, it couldn’t be real, _it couldn’t be real_ —and it had taken hours for the harsh reality to set in. 

“The next stage is anger,” Hermione continued, “and I think it’s safe to say you’ve experienced that stage as well.” She had reached for his hand, to give him some form of reassurance as he crouched beside her with tears rolling down his face, when she realized his hands were bleeding. “George, what happened?”

He looked down at his fingers. He hadn’t even realized—there were tiny glass shards left in his hand from touching the broken glass frame. Hermione tutted and stood to get some bandages. He watched as she rounded the wall and he could see her rifling through drawers in the kitchen. She finally found some bandages, grinning at him through the Kitchen Pass-Through. 

“Here, let’s get you patched up,” she said, whispering a spell to clean his wound. 

“What are the rest?” George asked. 

“Hmm?” Hermione looked up at him. “The rest?”

“Of the stages,” George said. “Of grief.”

“Oh! Yes,” Hermione said, continuing to tenderly wrap bandages around his hands. “The next stage is bargaining. It’s not always literal bargaining with other people—it’s often bargaining with yourself, thinking of what could have been done differently. It’s a lot of ‘if onlys’ and focusing on what could have been done to prevent the loss.

“Then comes depression.” She looked up at George, with his dark shadows beneath his eyes and the anguish embedded in the pools of blue. “Self-explanatory, I expect.”

“I suppose I’m at that stage now,” he mumbled, moving his gaze down to his wrapped hand. For some reason, the fact that Hermione had been the one to help him was making his stomach churn. Except... a good churn? “What’s the final stage?” he asked, to get his mind off of his nausea. 

“Acceptance.”

George blinked. He couldn’t imagine ever being able to _accept_ this. How _could_ he? Fred was _gone_. Acceptance was the last thing that was ever going to happen. Yet, apparently, it was the next stage of emotion he would be going through. He shook his head; Hermione had to be wrong. Muggles didn’t know _shite_ about how he was feeling. 

“Shall we go?” Hermione asked, cautiously putting a hand on George’s shoulder. He was startled out of his thoughts and she quieted her voice delicately. “If you’ve changed your mind, that’s all right.”

“No, this is something I should do,” he said, heaving himself to his feet with a sigh of resignation. He looked at the door apprehensively, feet unwilling to move. “I—I—” He swallowed, feeling himself begin to shake and sweat. “ _I should_...”

“George.” 

Hermione stretched out her hand towards him. There was no trace of mockery or exasperation in her face—she was simply there, supporting him. After a beat of silence, which felt like an eternity, he tentatively grasped her hand. 

Hermione squeezed it soothingly, giving him a consoling smile. “Let’s go.”


	2. Interchangeability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not Fred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk

“Oh _George_!”

Molly flung her arms around her son, weeping into his shoulder. Hermione stood back respectfully, allowing the mother the chance to reunite with the son she had so sorely missed. George stood rigidly as he was tightly embraced. He was no longer sure how to react to his family’s love. It felt foreign now. 

Molly finally pulled away, looking George up and down, tears still in her eyes. “Oh, George... I’m _so_ glad you’re back.” She looked over at Hermione gratefully. “ _Thank you_ , Hermione. Thank you for bringing my son home.”

Hermione blushed and gave an awkward chuckle. “Oh, well, I think George had _something_ to do with it too.”

George’s lips twitched upwards; if his head wasn’t in such a strange space, he would’ve laughed. 

“Come in, please,” Molly said, pulling George and Hermione inside the house. “I’m nearly finished making lunch!”

As soon as they entered the kitchen, the room went silent. All of the Weasleys were seated around the table—Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Ginny—and their significant others—Fleur and Harry—and it was clear that none of them had expected George to attend. George waited with baited breath for the inevitable realization—

“GEORGE!”

Hermione barely managed to evade the surge of redheads that stampeded George, the group hug knocking the wind right out of him. She couldn’t help but giggle as he mouthed ‘ _help me!_ ’ at her. She shook her head, crossing her arms smugly. He, in turn, made a face as though he were drowning. They both giggled to themselves and life felt a bit more normal. 

“Are you okay?” Percy asked, picking George’s arm up and furrowing his brows. “You’re as thin as a rail!”

George managed a smile. “I think that’s mum’s line.”

Percy chuckled, wrapping his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders. As much as he had dreaded this moment, George had to admit it was nice to be back with his family again. It only took a few minutes for their mother to finish cooking and soon enough, she had levitated it onto the table, calling them to sit down. George watched as everyone took their previous seats. He could choose anywhere to sit, yet his body ended up in the chair next to Hermione. Perhaps it was due to her being the first person who’d come to see him in months, or due to the overwhelming love his family was giving him; he felt drawn to her right now. 

She smiled at him as he sat and they all began to eat. 

* * *

_No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!_

He ran out of the house, stumbling over his own long strides. Snot and tears were running down his face, his vision was blurry, he couldn’t breathe—he didn’t care. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, _he didn’t care_. He tripped over a tree root, landing flat on his face. He pushed himself into a sitting position, letting out another wretched sob. He put his head on his knees, crying as he sat in the grass. _Why had he agreed to come?_

_“Would you pass the mashed potatoes, Fred?”_

That’s what his mum had said. _His own mother._ So he ran away. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle being compared to Fred by _himself_ , let alone his _family_. He _knew_ that it had been a mistake—he knew she hadn’t _meant_ it—but it had set something off in him. 

It used to give him a sense of pride, being compared to Fred—it meant they could prank people, they could switch places, they could be together. But now, it was just him. There was no happiness in being compared anymore. 

He didn’t know whether it had been a minute or an hour before he heard footsteps approaching. He was still crying and he didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but he knew it was too late. He hiccuped out a pathetic, “G-go away!” but he felt someone sit next to him.

“Can I put my arm around you?” came the gentle voice of Hermione Granger and, without a second thought, George nodded rigidly. Her arm wrapped around his shoulders soothingly and they simply sat there—him, sobbing, and her, rubbing his shoulders. They sat in silence until his harsh tears stopped and only hiccupy breathing remained. 

“You know she didn’t mean it,” Hermione said quietly. 

He nodded. “I know. It’s just—”

“I know.” She didn’t remove her arm as he hesitantly lifted his head. “Do you need a tissue?” He nodded again and she waved her wand minimally, summoning a box of tissues to them. He wiped his face and she asked, “Do you want to go back?” 

He shook his head so vigorously that he got dizzy. He couldn't handle it. Not yet. 

Hermione smiled softly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Okay, that's all right. I'll stay here with you for as long as you need."

“I don’t—” He ran his hands through his hair, sniffling loudly. “I don’t want to stay _here_ either.”

Hermione glanced at him quizzically. “Where do you want to be?”

“I—I don't know. Somewhere. _Anywhere_. Just not here,” George mumbled. He glanced over at the girl next to him and impulsively grabbed her hand. “Please, Hermione. Take me somewhere else.”

She stared into his wet eyes and slowly nodded her head. “All right, George. I'll take you somewhere else.”

She pushed herself to her feet, outstretching her hands to him, ready to haul him to his feet as well. Once they were both standing, with hands clasped, she whispered, “We're going to apparate. Ready?”

George nodded, sniffling quietly. She squeezed his hands in hers and then they were gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and/or kudos are greatly appreciated!!


	3. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking, thinking, thinking.

“An ice cream parlour?” George asked, as they appeared in a secluded area behind a very pink building. 

“Yep.” Hermione didn't release his hand as she lead him towards the front doors. “It's a Muggle ice cream parlour, so no magic, but there are over two hundred flavours to try. I'll buy us each a double scoop—no, you can't buy it for yourself. First of all, you have no Muggle money, and secondly, I want to treat you. C'mon,” she grinned back at him as they pushed into the crowded parlour, “let's get some ice cream.”

George was amazed at the amount of flavours and the fact that he could try each flavour before he made a purchase. Hermione had obviously been there many times before, as she would suggest flavours to him and guide him around. They laughed at each other's reactions to trying some of the more ridiculous flavours, such as Wasabi or Garlic. George found himself smiling as she took a sample of _Death by Mango_. 

_This was better than any family luncheon he could be at. He'd rather be with Hermione any day._

After they each settled on a couple flavours—two scoops of Mint Oreo for George, one scoop of Blueberry Cobbler and one scoop of Triple Fudge for Hermione—they crossed the street to a cute little sitting area. They sat on a stone bench by a large mural, with dozens of birds chirping around them. It was just _nice_ and George was feeling more like himself than he had for _months_. 

“Is it good?” Hermione asked. 

George hummed affirmatively as he took another lick of his cone. He wasn't thinking as he spoke, “It's another reminder I'm not Fred; he hated mint.” 

He shut up immediately. He hadn't meant to say anything about his brother; it made his heart pang with guilt for being the living twin. His stomach was in knots. He felt like throwing his ice cream at the wall. But it _did_ taste really good...

“Hey,” Hermione said, placing a hand on his knee, “it's good to think about him. It's _hard_ , but I promise it's _good_.” George didn't nod. “That doesn't mean you need to continue thinking about him, not right now. Acceptance won't happen all at once.” She smiled up at him. “Baby steps, George.” 

“Baby steps...” he repeated under his breath, tearing his eyes away from the girl. He nodded to his ice cream slowly, rolling the thought around his mind like clothes in a washing machine. “All right. Baby steps.”

Hermione took his hand with a loving squeeze, still smiling. She gave no comment, going back to her dessert, keeping her finger interlaced with his. He continued with his dessert as well, but he never took his eyes off of her. She didn't look at him, idly chatting—perhaps to take his mind off of his brother—and taking licks of her ice cream every so often. George finally pulled his eyes away with furrowed eyebrows.

_Since when had he been so interested in Hermione Granger?_

* * *

Hermione's flat was quaint—filled with knick knacks that George was certain were Muggle things—with a clean, cozy, _homey_ vibe. He immediately felt safer and calmer than before. He hadn't wanted to return to his flat now that he was out—too much _Fred_ —but he _definitely_ didn't want to go back to the Burrow. So Hermione had invited him to her apartment, saying she had a pullout sofa, whatever that meant. 

“Here we go,” Hermione stated, as she pulled the cushions off of her couch and folded it out into a bed. A wave of her wand had it topped with pillows and a duvet. “Do you think you'll be comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you, Hermione,” he said, sitting on the thin mattress with a squeak. It was springy, but better than being anywhere else. “I really appreciate everything you've been doing for me.”

“ _Of course_ , George. Anytime,” she said, hugging him gently. “Now, it's getting late. We should both head for bed.”

He nodded, lying down on his side. It wasn't bad. He'd be able to sleep. 

Hermione hesitated—he could see in her eyes that she was having an argument with herself—then leaned down to plant a kiss on his temple. “Goodnight, George.”

He swore his heart almost stopped at the gesture, yet he managed to get out a croaky, “G'night, Hermione.” 

She retreated to her own bedroom and he stared at where she had been standing. _What on earth was going on with his mind?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you enjoyed it :)


	4. Grounding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George struggles; Hermione helps.

He woke up screaming and sobbing violently. Hermione was next to him on the pullout, trying to calm him down. Without thinking, he collapsed into her arms, allowing her to hold him in a tight embrace. She easily fell into a mantra of “ _You're okay, it's okay_...” as she rubbed his back soothingly. He shuddered violently, sucking in a harsh breath and hiccuping loudly, unable to keep himself steady. 

“What do you see?” Hermione asked quietly. 

“I—what?” he managed to splutter, still heaving in choked sobs. 

“What are five things you can see?” she repeated, still rubbing along his spine lightly. 

“Um.” He sniffed loudly, glancing around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “A floor lamp... a bookshelf, an armchair, uh... the window... your hair...” He trailed off, still involuntarily inhaling sharply. 

“Good. Now, what are four things you can hear?”

He paused for a moment, listening. It was quiet, aside from his own hiccups and sniffles and sharp breaths. “Myself... you...” Another pause. “A ticking clock? And... the wind.”

“Three things you feel?”

“The carpet, my clothes... and your hands on my back.”

“Two things you smell?”

“The air from outside and... Lavender?”

Hermione nodded—it must have been her shampoo or something of the like. “And one thing you taste?”

“My saliva, I guess,” he said. 

She gently pulled away to look him in the eyes, her hands on his shoulders. She smiled. “Good job, George. How do you feel now?”

He blinked. “Oh. I feel... better.”

“Good,” she said, hugging him once more.

“What was that?”

“That's something called Grounding. I essentially just took your focus away from the anxiety and the dreamworld, pulling you back to the present and the safety. It usually works pretty well.”

“Wow. Thank you.” He leaned back, feeling numb. “I feel weird.”

“Anxiety attacks are both a physically and emotionally draining experience.” She began to stand, but he grabbed her arm abruptly. “I was just going to get you some tea, George.”

“Please, just... don't leave.” 

He felt weak, pleading for her presence. He was a grown man, yet here he was, acting like a scared child. She didn't look at him as though he were a child, though. She stared at him with true compassion; her eyes viewed his soul, acknowledging his genuine fear and giving him her entire heart in return. She sat back down, taking his hand. 

“All right. I'll stay here. For as long as you need me, I'll stay.”

* * *

The next time George woke up, Hermione was beside him, tucked under his arm. Groggily, he recalled her comforting him the night before—or perhaps very early in the morning?—and she had agreed to stay with him until he felt safe. It seemed as though they both fell asleep before he could give her to okay to go back to her own bed. He inhaled deeply; the scent of lavender lingered in the air. 

It felt wrong to be relishing this moment. As if Hermione were something delicate, to be treasured, handled with care, and George wasn't worthy. Or like... sneaking cookies when Mum wasn't looking. Something _so damn_ _good_ that he wasn't meant to have. 

_Is this a crush?_

George bolted upright at the thought, jarring Hermione from her slumber. He barely noticed, his brain trained on the single thought of _is this a crush?_ That would explain everything he felt, physically and emotionally, around her. It was yet another thought that felt _wrong_. But... why? Why was having feelings for a girl who was doing _so much good_ for him wrong? He glanced beside him, where the bushy-haired woman in question was running her eyes blearily. It was as if something clicked in his mind; all of the puzzle pieces suddenly fitting together. 

“Are you all right?” she asked, tiredly. She looked up at him, squinting through her hair. “George?”

“Yeah,” he croaked, still staring at her in a new light. He cleared his throat and repeated, “Yeah. I'm good.”

“Mm, okay. Good,” she yawned, stretching. “Shall I make some breakfast?”

“Sure,” he said, absentmindedly. 

He wasn't going to tell her. How could he? She surely had no interest in him beyond friendship and he might be completely confusing his own feelings. He watched Hermione stand and walk around her counter island; he shook his head, looking down to his hands. Ignorance was bliss. Eventually, he would forget this feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the person who left the SWEETEST comment last time: I am in love with you and the rest of this fic is dedicated to you so thank you <3


	5. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hindrances and apologies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all being so nice, just know I love you all a ton <3
> 
> [EDIT: lol I forgot George only had one ear so I fixed the two (2) instances where I had mentioned his ears and changed it appropriately lol]

But he didn't forget. In fact, over the next five days he spent at Hermione's flat, he _obsessed_ over his feelings. 

Every thought she voiced, every action she made, every time her lips even _hinted_ at a smile, he would overthink it. Did she like him? Was she just being nice? Did she see him like a brother? A friend? Or something more? Did she know how he felt? What was going through that brilliant brain of hers? He just couldn't stop thinking about Hermione _fucking_ Granger. 

He was so busy agonizing over his feelings that he didn't notice until the fifth day that she hadn't left the house at all. 

“Do you have a job, Hermione?” he asked during lunchtime. 

She stopped chewing mid-bite, eyes wandering everywhere except him. He waited—returning the patience she had shown him. 

“I did,” she admitted finally, placing her sandwich down on her plate. She met his gaze and immediately looked away again. “It didn't work out, though.” 

“Was it because of me?”

“No! George, no. Don't worry. I was unemployed before I came to fetch you. I—well...” She tapped her fingers along the table rhythmically, seeming deep in thought. “My employer had been under the impression that I was not a Muggle-born and upon finding out I was, they—they decided I was no longer fit to fill the position.”

“ _What_?” George couldn't believe his ears—well, _ear_. “They _fired you_ for being _Muggle-born_?”

“Yes,” she sighed, resting her chin in her hands. “It was—well, frankly, it was devastating. Being laid off for something so ridiculous. But...” She glared at her food, as if it were her old boss. “I'd rather not work for a racist, anyways.”

George nodded sympathetically. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault, George.”

“If I weren't here, you could be out job hunting right now, instead of stuck here, taking care of my lazy arse—”

“ _No_ , George. You're _not_ lazy, you're going through tremendous pain and loss. If I wanted to go job search, I would. I'd much rather be here with you and support you through this.” She reached out her hand to grasp his and he felt his ear burn. She smiled sweetly at him. “I promise you are _never_ going to be a hindrance to me, all right?”

George's heart was going a million miles a minute as she squeezed his hand comfortingly. He nodded, biting his lip. “All right.”

* * *

Later that day, he got a floo call from his mum. Hermione had forced him to sit in front of her fireplace, promising she would be in the room with him the entire time, but he _had_ to speak with his mother. 

“Hi, Mum,” he said hoarsely, trying to hide the fact he had just finished having an anxiety attack when Hermione had told him she had wanted to speak to him. 

“Oh George!” Mrs. Weasley wailed, seeming to burst into tears upon seeing his face. “I'm so sorry, George!”

“It's fine, Mum. I've had time to recover.”

“George, no. I need you to understand,” she said, and he had never heard his mum speak this seriously. “I miss Fred too, but you are not him. When I called you his name, that was my fault. I had no intention of reminding you of your pain or hurting you further. We were all hurt by his loss, but I _know_ you were hurt the most. That devastation wasn't lost on me. Your feelings are important to me and I understand I need to be more gentle with them often times. I understand if you need time away from family—away from _me_ —but just know that I _love_ _you_ , George, and I will never stop loving you. Please forgive me.”

George said nothing for a moment, jaw slack from his mother's surprisingly mature apology. Usually, the woman wouldn't admit to her wrongs and, on the rare moment she would, she never gave such heartfelt apologies. He needed a second to compose himself. 

“I forgive you, Mum. Thank you so much.” He sniffled, wiping his eyes gently. “I really appreciate your apology. I—I don't know when I'll come back to the Burrow, but I will. I promise.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled, wiping at her own leaky eyes. “Good.” She cleared her throat, pulling herself together. “Now, how are you doing these days, dear?”

Hermione watched the mother and son chat from her perch at her counter island. It was lovely seeing them bonding, especially after everything that had happened recently. George caught her eye and gave her a happy thumbs up. She sipped her tea with a smile on her faintly blushing face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly always seemed like she didn't like to apologize to her children, but I wanted her to realize her faults, especially after Fred's untimely death. Hopefully this was a good chapter!! <3


	6. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready set...

“I should visit the shop,” he said one day, trying to sound casual instead of scared out of his mind. 

Hermione looked up at him with surprise etched on her face. “ _Really_? I mean, I think you _should_ ,” she amended at his worried glance, “but I didn't realize you felt _ready_.”

“I don't,” he admitted, shoulders hunching over and eyes flitting down to his lap. “I really don't. But I don't know if I _ever_ will. It's never going to get _easier_.”

“You're right, it won't,” she agreed reluctantly. “Still, time _can_ heal—don't force yourself to suffer if you need more time to process.”

 _Godric, he loved this girl._ “No. I _need_ to do this. Besides, I think that everyone else needs this just as much as I do. What's that Muggle saying? Laughing is the best medication?”

“ _Laughter_ is the best _medicine,_ ” Hermione corrected with a giggle. “You were very close,” she said, patting his hand encouragingly. George ignored how he blushed at her touch. “There are definitely things that need traditional medicines and therapy, but laughter does indeed help.”

“If there's ever a time to reopen the shop, it's now, right? I'm— _we're_ —not the only ones who lost someone due to the war. People might need this. _I_ might need this.”

Hermione leaned forward abruptly, hugging him tightly. He basked in the embrace. 

“Oh, George. I'm so proud of you.” She slowly let go of him, her hands still trailing along his shoulders. “It's only been a few weeks and I've seen _such_ growth in you.”

He was sure that he looked entirely like a tomato at this point; Hermione didn't comment if he did. “Thank you, Hermione.”

“Do you need anything from me?” she asked, looking into his eyes as if searching for something. 

“Come with me?”

She smiled compassionately. “Of course.”

* * *

He stared at the door, body unwilling to move forward. It was only a door—a carved slab of wood, really—and yet, it wasn't. It felt as though it were the entrance to something _bigger_ than just a joke shop; it was the start of something new, something _scary_. Simultaneously, if he didn't do this, it felt like he was abandoning everything. If he didn't do this now, he never would, and then his twin brother's final legacy would be wasted. 

He inhaled deeply and grasped the handle. 

Pushing into the store, the first thing he noticed was the thin layer of dust covering every visible surface. Of course, no one had been here to maintain the place, but he had thought for some reason nothing would've changed. It tore at his heart, seeing the small difference. Even though everything else was just as they left it, the dust made him feel like the floor had collapsed from underneath him, sending him spiralling down into the cold ground below, further and further, until he could fall no longer and would hit the core, burning and breaking and—

“George.”

Hermione had taken him by the shoulders, gently leading him to a sitting position on the steps, attempting to calm his breathing. She knelt before him, hands in his, thumb rubbing gently along his palm, counting down softly. When he finally managed to cease hyperventilating, she smiled proudly at him. 

“You did it, George.”

“N-No! I didn't, though,” he argued, voice still shaking from his panic attack. 

“But you did! You're inside.” Hermione gestured around them, at all of the colourful products— _dusty_ products, _so_ dusty— “That's step one. Actually, considering you decided to do this in the first place and arrived in the Alley, this is more like the third step? Either way, you've accomplished _so much_ in such a short time!” She gave him a quick hug. “I'm _so_ proud of you, George.”

George cracked a smile. “Thanks, Mione.” His eyes widened upon realizing what he'd called her, quickly retracting his statement with a crimson complexion. “I mean, uh, I'm sorry, I—”

“No, hey, George—” Hermione was giggling. “George, I don't mind the nickname! In fact, go ahead. It's... It's nice.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, laughing awkwardly. “All right... Mione.”

She helped him to his feet, smiling around the shop. “I really missed this place.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yeah. It's brilliant, really, and I love the happiness it emanates...” She looked up at him joyfully. “I think you were right before, it will really help everyone recover.”

He nodded, avoiding eye contact with the dust particles floating through the air. How was he going to do this _alone_?

“Do you still want to do this? We can go back home, if you're feeling overwhelmed,” Hermione said. 

Suddenly, he realized he _wasn't_ alone. 

Newfound courage, he took a deep breath and said, “I want to stay.”

She beamed up at him. “Well then, where do we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎶NOT YET, not yet, WHY RUSH, why rush, SOON ENOUGH OUR HOPES AND OUR DREAMS WILL BE CRUSHED BUT NOT YET🎶
> 
> Those are lyrics from Beetlejuice, the Broadway musical, which I am quoting because my chapter summary was "Ready set..." which are the lyric that precede this part of the song, which is also called Ready Set lol aNYWAYS
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter!!! I'm tempted to go public, like take this story out of the anonymous collection, but we'll see 👀


	7. Deserving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George does a really good job <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to come off anonymous!! The reason I even went anon in the first place was bc my OTP is actually FRED and Hermione, so I felt bad shipping George and Hermione but I mean??? I'm allowed to like both so?? 
> 
> Anyways, hi, I'm Jayce, and I'm your freestyle dance teacher. *dances away*

Hermione took care of the dust in seconds with a silent spell and George immediately felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. They walked through the aisles, picking up products that had fallen and straightening up as best they could. He checked the cash register and sorted through the coins that had been abandoned back before the battle. Looking out at the room, he nearly smiled—it was nice, being in a place he loved so dearly, that he had put so much care and effort into. 

But Fred should be by his side right now...

“George, is this where you make your products?”

He turned to see Hermione peering into the back room curiously. He gestured for her to enter the room. Her gaze swept over the area in awe. It was a big space, filled with crates of potions and products, a large table in the centre, covered in ingredients and beakers and cauldrons, with two stools next to it—she could see splashes of George everywhere. She approached the table, eyes still sweeping the room. 

“We spent a lot of time in here,” he said quietly, standing in the doorway, unable to will himself to enter the room. “A lot of good memories...”

“I can tell,” Hermione replied, turning in a slow circle. “This is incredible.” Looking up at George again, she blurted, “Show me your process!”

“What?” 

He was taken aback, never predicting her to be interested in the creation of pranking equipment. But she was staring at him with such earnest, such intrigue, that he knew she wasn't just playing with him. 

“It's fascinating in here,” she explained, gesturing behind her, stepping towards the ginger. “I can't imagine how fascinating your work would be.”

George hesitated. The last time he had been inside the backroom, Fred had been by his side. Could he really do this by himself? 

“If you're not ready, that's okay,” Hermione reminded him softly, touching his shoulder lightly. “I shouldn't have said anything—”

“No.” George quickly shook his head. “I mean, I—I don't think I'm _ready_ to—to do _that_ , but you're not—you're not _pressuring_ me or anything.”

She smiled tenderly at him. “Good. And you don't need to be ready anytime soon. _You_ come first— _before_ the shop. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She pulled him into a comforting embrace. He melted into the hug, squeezing her tight. Blush rising in his cheeks, he buried his face in Hermione's hair, sighing to himself. 

“ _I don't deserve you_ ,” he murmured. 

“ _Yes,_ ” she insisted, “ _you do_.”

* * *

“I don't know what to do now,” George said, standing by the register and staring out across the sea of shelves. Hermione stood at his side. “I—I don't know how to do this anymore...”

“Well,” she said slowly, gaze also focused on the shop laid out before them, “we've cleaned and restocked shelves—you have enough products that aren't expired to last a while—and you _made it here_.” She looked over at him. “You don't _need_ to do anything else. Not if you don't feel ready yet.”

George nodded, unable to pull his eyes away from the shop. He was _so damn_ _proud_ of this place. He didn't want his dream— _their_ dream—to go to waste. 

“It wouldn't be wasted.” He hadn't realized he had said those words aloud until Hermione spoke. “It would still be _here_ , still attainable—taking time for yourself isn't conducive to giving up.”

George couldn't move. He was stiff, statuesque, as he felt the walls closing in, and his chest tightening, and his body shrinking; he was so small, _tiny_ , trapped in an enormous room filled with his own creations, _taunting him_ , pushing him further inward, sending his lungs tumbling down a flight of stairs—and he couldn't _hear_ —he couldn't _feel_ anything—

He didn't register that Hermione had gently led him outside until he could feel chill air hitting his face. She helped him sit down on some cobblestone stairs, rubbing his back silently. After what felt like forever, he finally was able to get his breath back under control and experience his senses again. Hermione reminded him to unclench his fists and let his tense shoulders relax; he did so, exhaling in relief. Strange how such small adjustments could affect his entire body. They sat together quietly for another few minutes. George breathed with the rhythm of Hermione's tender circles on his back. 

“I'm making the executive decision,” Hermione said, quietly, _delicately_ , “to go home. You've done _so_ much today, it's overwhelming. _Exhausting_. We'll tackle opening the store another time.”

George couldn't find his voice—he nodded. 

“George, you've done such a good job today. Don't let yourself think you didn't do enough.”

Another nod. 

She gingerly stood, offering a hand to him with a smile. He took it, painstakingly standing; he wobbled, the numbness absconding sluggishly. She squeezed his hand—a wordless gesture of comfort. Then, she apparated them away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that!!!! Poor George, but he's doing so well :3 
> 
> All the anxiety imagery is based on my own experience with anxiety and panic attacks :') 
> 
> Thanks for reading and supporting!!! I love you guys <3


	8. Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione talks, Ginny drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty short :/ but sometimes that's just how it goes

Hermione came to him the next day with a proposal—an instruction, really. 

“ _I'll_ run the shop,” she said firmly, though he knew she wasn't going to oppose him should he object. “I can't create any of the pranks, obviously, but we have enough stock to last quite a bit. I'll just get it started, and then, when you feel ready, you can take over.”

“I don't want to force that on y—”

“You're _not_ ,” she interjected. “I'm _offering_.”

“But it's so much for one person! I don't want to burden you...”

“Again, _you_ wouldn't be burdening me; besides, I've already contacted your old employee before the war, Verity, your friend, Lee, and Ron, who volunteered to assist.” She locked eyes with him insistently. “I would be okay. If you don't want me to do this, I won't, but I think you should let Ron or Lee or Verity do it then.”

“...I don't want to be alone,” he confessed, in barely a whisper. He refused to look Hermione in the eyes, shame overtaking him. 

“Okay,” Hermione said, reaching across the table to cup his cheek. He snuck a glance at her; her expression was filled with understanding. “I'll stay here with you, then. Someone else can start up the shop. You can take over whenever you're ready.”

He leaned into her palm, nodding. Her hand was so soft; he breathed out slowly, anxiety leaving alongside the carbon dioxide. He felt his posture relax. 

_Comfort_. 

What a gift this woman brought him. 

* * *

“I think I'm falling for your brother.”

Ginny raised a dubious eyebrow, taking a swig of her firewhiskey. “Thought you only liked Ron as a friend.”

“Not _Ron_ ,” Hermione mumbled, covering her face bashfully. Through her fingers, she could see her friend's eyes light up zealously; the ginger was always hungry for gossip. She felt her face heat up and, before she could chicken out, she admitted, “ _George_.”

“ _No_!” Ginny gasped exuberantly, grin widening. She leaned forward, grabbing Hermione's hands eagerly. “You need to tell me _everything_!”

“I shouldn't have told you,” Hermione groaned, blush rising in her cheeks. Nevertheless, she told Ginny everything from the past few months—excluding anything about George's panic attacks and depression; that wasn't hers to share—and ended by sighing, “I feel almost as though I'm using him if I act on my feelings, though.”

“How so?”

“He's—he's _emotionally vulnerable_ right now. I'm now his voice of self-love and acceptance, aiding him through this difficult time. I don't want him to feel—feel _indebted_ to me, or—or mistake his feelings of gratitude for something else—” She shook her head, hugging herself with languish. “I care about him too much to hurt him in that way.”

“Oh, Mione... You would never hurt him—”

“I know that I never would _on purpose_! But I just don't know how his brain would interpret that sort of confession right now. I don't want to take advantage of him, Gin.”

Ginny nodded, though still seeming unsure about the other girl's assessment. She took another sip of her alcohol. By the melancholy expression on Hermione's face, she sensed it was time to change the subject. 

“So... How's Lee doing, running the shop?”

“Oh, he's basically an off-brand Weasley,” Hermione chuckled with a casual wave of her hand. “He's doing wonderfully.”

“I'll need to check it out sometime. When do you think George will be back running it?”

Hermione shrugged wistfully. “There's no step-by-step guideline for how people deal with grief. Everyone is different. Plus, the path to healing isn't always linear. It could be a while, or it could be next week. All we can do is support him.”

Ginny nodded. “I remember after my second year—after that _fucking diary_ was in my head—it took a few years for me to feel normal again. Even now, I still get the occasional nightmare. Don't pity me, Hermione,” she added sharply, seeing her friend's expression shift. “That's the last thing I want.”

“The last thing _George_ wants, too,” she said, ruefully bringing the conversation back to her crush. “That's why I can't tell him, Ginny. I don't want him to think I'm just pitying him.”

“He won't think that.”

“He _might_. He already thinks he's burdening me just by allowing me to take care of him.”

Ginny frowned, swirling her firewhiskey bottle idly in her hand. “I get it. But, I think he deserves to know.”

Hermione sighed, looking to her lap. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are all doing well!! I've been on and off with depressive-procrastination so my quarantine hasn't been GREAT but y'know. What can you do besides wear a mask and hang out with friends at a safe distance :) keep safe, everyone!


	9. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Socializing and more-than-friendly feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this fic so much :')

It had been weeks of lazing around Hermione's flat before she finally took him by the hands, gently guided him in putting on his coat and shoes, and led him out of her flat. He had never actually walked down through her apartment building—they had always apparated before this—and found it pleasant. They walked down a hallway, into an elevator, giving polite smiles to another woman in the elevator, then out through the lobby, hand in hand the entire time. He couldn't help but squeeze her hand lovingly as they trudged down the sidewalk. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, swinging their arms playfully. She grinned up at him; his stomach adopted several butterflies. 

“There's this nearby park—we both needed some fresh air and a change of scenery,” she explained cheerfully, gladly allowing George to swing their intertwined hands like a pendulum. “I thought it would be a nice outing.”

He beamed. “I agree.”

As they entered the park grounds, strolling along the gravel path, their hands never released each other. George wasn't sure if he was misinterpreting or projecting or just hopeful, but he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Hermione had a crush on him too. On the other hand, all of this could be completely platonic—not like he knew shite about girls. Or emotions, for that matter. 

“Oh, look!”

Hermione pointed to a vacant swingset—two swings, right next to each other, practically begging to be used. George hadn't been on a swing since he was a child—before _Hogwarts_ , even—still, the way Hermione's eyes lit up gleefully, he could never say no. Inwardly, he recognized how romantic this was; he ignored that. 

They sat together, hands finally free, gently pushing themselves from the ground, swaying calmly. The sun was low in the sky—he hadn't realized how late it was—and Hermione looked even more beautiful during golden hour. The way the light shimmered on her skin, revealing the precious treasure she truly was, and the glow, allowing him to imagine her halo... 

“George?”

He snapped out of his reverie when she spoke his name, spluttering, “Yeah?”

“I was just saying you seem a bit nervous... If you want to go home, we can.”

There it was again, her unwavering consideration. Godric, he didn't deserve this woman. 

“Do you think...” he trailed off, unsure of his desires. He could confess to her right now. Rip off the bandaid, tell her he fancied her more than he had fancied any other human he'd known. But that was scary. “Do you think we could invite a couple friends over tonight?” he said instead, looking at his feet. “Play some card games, drink Butterbeer...”

“Oh, that's a lovely idea, George!” she exclaimed, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder encouragingly. “If you're sure.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I probably need to socialize a bit, haha...”

He knew it wasn't convincing; he was thankful she didn't press further. He could practically hear Fred, teasing, _Thought you were a Gryffindor, mate! Where's all that courage of yours? Admit it to her, she deserves to know!_ He couldn't meet her eyes for the rest of the walk home. 

* * *

George was subdued, Hermione could tell. She didn't want to push him—she also didn't want him to agonize alone, stuck in his own head. She hoped that playing some games with their friends would find a middle ground, both pulling him out of his own friends and uplifting his spirits, without her overstepping boundaries. She took a tentative sip of her Butterbeer, turning her eyes back to her card she had just shuffled. 

She didn't own Exploding Snap or Wizard Chess, however, she had several Muggle games that she grew up with. She just taught George, Ron, and Lee how to play Dutch Blitz, so they were gathered around the coffee table, readying themselves to go through a practice round. She was prepared to go easy on them, to give them a sense of the game. As soon as they were ready, however, she would _cream_ them. She smiled to herself thinking of it; it wasn't often she found a game she was better than the boys at. 

Lee caught on the quickest, then Ron—she wasn't surprised, they played a lot of card games during downtime at WWW—but George seemed to be struggling to grasp the concepts. She shushed the other boys when they snickered at him. They were both less gentle people, less understanding of emotions, less _soft_ —she didn't hold it against them, it wasn't in their nature. She _would_ be having a talk with them later about George's precarious mental state and self-doubt. 

“Here, you see? Green three over green four, then shift this card here... Flip three of these cards and check to see if you can use the top one, if not, flip three more. Yes, just like that! You'll get the hang of it.”

He smiled gratefully at her and she returned the gesture. Then, she swiped up her glass, saying, “I think I'll refill my Butterbeer before the next round.”

“I'll come with you, Mione,” Ron said quickly. She shrugged and he followed her into the kitchen, then, in a low voice, accused, “How long has this been going on?”

“How long has _what_ been going on, Ronald?” She felt a tinge of guilt for being so sharp with him. Really though, her personal life was of no importance to him. 

“You're like a sheet of glass, Hermione—you only ever call me by my full name when I've hit a nerve.” He gently placed a hand on her arm. “Come on, Mione, you can be honest with me. How long have you and George been—been an _item_?”

“We're _not_ —!”

“Give me some credit; even _I'm_ not _that_ oblivious. The way you talk to him, the way he looks at you...” Ron shook his head. “I'm not mad or whatever, I'm just curious.”

“Wait, how does he look at me?” Hermione's cheeks were burning as she asked this, but she needed to know what her best friend saw that she didn't. 

Ron raised an eyebrow. “You really don't know?” Her disgruntled silence and puffed out cheeks told him everything he needed. “Mione, my brother looks at you like you're his entire world. Like—like, as if you hung the stars.” Her eyes were wide; George really saw her like that? “And the way you talk to him, like there's nobody you'd rather be talking to, like he's the most important person in your life—I'm surprised you two haven't gotten together yet.”

Hermione shook her head quickly. “I don't want to take advantage of him by mistake. I—I don't want to _hurt him_. He's in a vulnerable mental state.”

“I know that. But I don't think his feelings _or yours_ are going to go away between now and when he's better.” Ron shrugged, taking a swig of the last remnants of his drink. “Listen, I—I know it's not my place, but... I think you should tell him. Chances are, it'll turn out well for the both of you.”

“Ron, the last girl you kissed was _me_. I don't think you're in a position to give me relationship advice.”

Ron's ears went bright red and he hid behind his empty mug. “Well...”

Hermione gasped, slamming her cup on the counter. “ _Who_? Do I know them?”

“Parvati,” he whispered, a smile edging on his face despite the embarrassment. “We started dating, what, two months ago? We met at a bar and started talking again and... Godric, I really liked— _like_ —her, so I asked her out. She said yes and now she's the best thing that happened to me.” He glanced up at her. “It's still early, and I know it might not end up that way with you and George, but all I'm saying is that one of you _needs_ to say _something_ and I don't think he will.”

She nodded slowly, taking in his words. When had Ron gotten so wise?

“ _Hey_ , fuck you,” Ron joked, and she realized she had spoken that aloud. 

She hit him playfully. “You lost your chance at that months ago, Weasley.”

They laughed, heading back to the others. She beamed with pride when she saw that George and Lee were laughing and joking together, and George almost looked genuinely happy again. There was still a hesitance in his eyes—thinking about how he shouldn't be allowed to enjoy his life without his twin in it, she suspected—but it was still such a miracle to see. She took her seat next to him again, bumping his shoulder lightly, trying to silently convey how proud she was of him. His smile told her he understood; he squeezed her hand for the briefest moment, then turned back to the other boys. 

“So, ready for another round?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inserting mentions of my favourite card game and obscure HP ship??? In MY fic??? It's more likely than you think


	10. Linear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George spirals and Hermione seeks help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a shorty but the next one will hopefully be longer :)

George thought he was getting better; he _felt_ better, he _saw_ better, he _thought_ better. He had let his facial hair grow out for a while in the beginning, too tired to use the shaving spell, then he had used it after the first time Hermione had retrieved him from his flat. Yet again, it had been a while, so he went into the bathroom to shave. As soon as the stubble disappeared, he felt as though the mirror shattered along with his heart. 

“George?!”

Oh. The mirror _had_ cracked, spider-webbing out from the centre—he must've done that by mistake. Was his emotional magic that strong?

Hermione had her arms around him in moments, leading him out to the lounge, sitting him on the sofa. He barely registered it as he spiralled further and further into the hole deep within his heart. Fred. Fred, Fred, _Fred_. All he could see were his cold, dead eyes staring back at him, his head bludgeoned and bleeding, hair and face stained with crimson—he had a sudden compulsion to rip his own face off. To tear the flesh away, remove this permanent scar of his twin, the reminder of all he'd lost...

“ _George_.” 

Hermione pulled his hands away from his face where his fingernails had indented, firmly yet lovingly. She held them in her own, breathing slowly as she looked in his eyes, willing him to copy her. He struggled—he couldn't, _he_ _couldn't_ —but eventually managed to match her calming breaths. He felt as though he had run a marathon. 

“It's okay,” she said, easily. He nodded meekly; she always knew how he was feeling. She didn't release his hands, giving them a tight, reassuring squeeze. “You were reminded of Fred, right?”

“ _Don't_! D-Don't say his name,” George said sharply, then immediately added, guiltily, “I'm sorry. You're right, I know you're right...”

“It's all right. I won't say his name until you're ready.”

“I—I _thought_ —”

“George, healing isn't linear; it doesn't go from _hurt_ to _healed_. In fact, you may never be fully _healed_ , at least not in the way you hope.” At his despairing spluttering, she went on, “One day, you will hurt less. One day, you'll have the tools to cope with your loss. _But_ , one day, you may still be triggered and that's _okay_. It will happen less, happen with less debilitating symptoms—you will be able to think of him and remember the _good_ , not just the bad.” 

“How long?” he choked out, swallowing his tears harshly. 

“No one can say for certain, George,” she replied, with a morose smile. “I can _promise_ it will get better, though. You will _not_ be stuck in this depression forever.”

He leaned his head on her shoulder, letting his silent tears flow. 

* * *

“Harry,” Hermione said, one day when they had gone out with Ron, during one of their _Golden Trio Gossip Sessions_ , as George called them, “do you know of any good mental health counsellors?”

“Yeah, actually,” he said, putting his coffee down in surprise. Ron glanced between them. “I've been seeing someone recently actually—I've got more trauma than I realized.” He chuckled. “I suppose being basically trained to face-off against a wizarding supervillain since the age of eleven will do that to a guy.” He shot her a questioning glance. “You need a recommendation?”

“Not for me,” she said hurriedly. “For George.”

“We're never gonna judge you if you wanna get therapy, Mione,” Ron said supportively, taking a swig of his drink. “There's no shame in it.”

“I—thank you,” she said, blinking in surprise. She hadn't thought that Ron would be so open-minded; she supposed he had really matured a lot more than she gave him credit for. “I'll evaluate my own mental health soon, but for now, George is my primary concern.”

“Because you love him,” Harry supplied, and Hermione looked away, saying nothing, which was a response in and of itself. Harry smiled tenderly, writing a name on a napkin. “Well, try Fiorella Truong. She's my therapist and she's very good. If she and he don't click, that's okay—sometimes you just don't click—but don't let it stop him. You could try someone else from her agency. They specialize in people suffering from post-war trauma, especially loss of loved ones. Someone there will be a good fit for him.”

Hermione beamed, pocketing the napkin. “Thank you, Harry. He needs more help than I can provide him— _professional help_.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “You're _so_ good for him, Mione.”

The conversation turned from there, but even through Ron's lovesick rambling about Parvati, Hermione's mind stayed focused on Harry's words from before. _Because you love him._ It echoed through her head, almost taunting. She really _did_ love him, didn't she? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George is gonna get help and I'm so happy for him :')


End file.
